One Weakness
by Mtwapa
Summary: Lark rise to Candleford. Spoilers for series 2. The morning thoughts of a man. What could his one weakness be? The late-night thoughts of a man who makes a remarkable comparison to Samson. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Excited about the upcoming episode of series 2 made me scribble this one down quickly. Inspired by Mr. Dowland's comment on cowardice not being able to count as Miss Lane's one weakness. This is set in the future. Feedback as always is much appreciated. Enjoy.

One Weakness

The sunlight faintly streaming through the semi-drawn curtains was enough to make his eyes open sleepily. Blinking and slowly waking up, he shifted his position, his arm coming to rest around the curved body of the figure sleeping next to him.

The figure sighed softly in sleep, nestling closer into the comforting warmth of his body. Fully awake now and loving these morning moments, he propped his head up to gain a better view of the sleeping form. His mouth curved up into a small smile as his eyes surveyed the peaceful face.

He couldn't believe his dream had come true, that the woman of his dreams was truly sleeping next to him. He had dreamt of her incessantly while making his fortune, ever hopeful that his worst nightmare; her marriage, would not come to be. It had always been for her, ever since she had smiled at him on Fordlowe lane. To see her with the beautiful wedding gown held against her form, when he had made his first visit to the post office, had brought him further under her captivating spell.

She murmured in her sleep. He pulled her closer, close enough to smell the faint jasmine drifting from her hair. Everything about her intoxicated him. He could not imagine living without her, married or not.

"James?" she whispered huskily, her eyes still closed.

"My love?" he breathed down to whisper in her ear, his lips grazing her earlobe.

"You're staring again." She smiled, sleepily, that smile…the one that had his heart skipping a beat and his pulse racing.

"Miss Lane…" he began to apologise, "Mrs. Dowland,..Dorcas," he corrected, "I'm sorry."

She was awake now and was shaking her head, amused by his utterances. She raised herself to look at him. "What were you thinking?"

He shook his head, his dimpled smile appearing. She kissed the firm skin of his chest. Her eyes imploring him.

He pulled her up, his lips mere inches from hers, his eyes held her own, "I was thinking Miss Lane…I was thinking that you are… my one weakness."

Her eyes immediately dropped from his, she blushed, her skin glowing in the hazy light of the room, still unused to hearing his compliments. She smiled as she raised her lips to him, "That's Mrs. Dowland to you, Sir." she replied with a smirk to which she was given a puzzled raised eyebrow.

"MY mistake then, Mrs. Dowland." He whispered back, unable to stop himself from kissing her this time.

-FIN-


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Well, unexpectedly, the one-shot turned into a two-shot. Thank-you to Peanuts107 and MrsTater for their encouragement to continue this. I hope you guys like this, I know it's not entirely solid, in terms of Victorian England and I've taken a lot of poetic licence with the characters. I've shied away from Dorcas' having too much to say or do because I'm still hesitant about writing her character in a way that does her justice. _Italics indicate a flashback._ Anyway....ENJOY!

Disclaimer: Again! I can't believe I forgot to put up a disclaimer! well, as I'm sure y'all all know this beautiful adaptation belongs to the BBC and the book belongs to F. Thompson

Japanese neck pillow

Their lovemaking had been more rough and more frenzied that usual.

Today…They had had their first argument. Their first argument as a married couple.

Today…He had had his first bout of insomnia. His first time since he had become a married man.

There was a weight pressing on his chest and he could find no rest tonight.

Striking a match, as quietly as he could, he looked down at his beloved wife bathed in candlelight.

_It had started this morning when she objected to one of his proposals he wanted to carry through the council…Proposals to further the development of a growing Candleford. They had argued and a stony silence had ensued through the day, culminating in a tension-crackling supper._

He wondered briefly if Samson's Delilah had been a spitting (red-headed) image of his Dorcas?

The thought evaporated as suddenly as it had appeared, as he noticed the dark bruises and vermilion patches beginning to rise on her milky skin. Markings that bore a remarkable similarity to his fingers and lips. Maybe he had been a little too rough with her.

He hadn't been able to help himself tonight - to display his dominance. He had lost all control. She had been intuitively and surprisingly submissive. A vast change from their normal habits where he encouraged her to explore, where it was all about her losing control. His fingertips skimmed lightly over the marks.

Yet, he knew she had enjoyed it. They had both enjoyed it…immensely. His fingertips now brushed her lips and she sighed contentedly in her slumber, her lower body curving further around him.

There was only one solution right now. He needed to go downstairs.

Carefully disengaging himself from her, he sat up and retrieved his dressing gown.

He creaked down into his chair in his study with a glass of whisky and a thick volume. He looked down at the proposal, catching sight of his discarded necktie, an impish smile curving the corners of his mouth as he remembered the evening.

_She had come to him, two hours after she had announced she was retiring for the evening. After she was sure he had sent Minnie to bed._

"_James, let's not…" she began, as he pointedly continued to ignore her presence in his study. _

_He furiously scribbled on. _

"_James, I would like to propose a compromise." _

_He had been trying so hard to ignore her that he had failed to notice her moving towards him. He looked up, a smile breaking out as he remembered the last time she had proposed a compromise when he suggested the front of the post office could do with some sprucing up. He shook his head vehemently._

"_James…" she whispered, one hand unknotting his necktie, the other caressing his shoulder._

"_Dorcas," he swallowed, trying to keep his breathing slow and his mind focused on the proposal in front of him. "Dorcas, this is not the wa-"_

_His words were forgotten as she kissed him. Everything was forgotten, all he knew was that he had pulled her into his arms and carried her quickly to their bed. _

His fingers played with the necktie as he reminisced.

"James?" she asked, the door to his study creaked open.

He was pulled out of his reverie. He held the light up for her, as she entered. Fastening her robe a little more tightly she approached him, she leaned against the oak desk.

"What's the matter?" she enquired softly, her eyes falling on his glass of whisky. Comprehension dawned as she noticed the thickly bound volume and why he had left their bed.

"Dorcas," he began, his hand parted her gown slightly to roam across the sensitive flesh, "We shouldn't have. I shouldn't have. We need to talk about this." He took her hand in his.

"Oh James," she sighed, her perky smile appearing. "We will always have things to disagree about, but what matters is that we talk about it. That we trust each other enough to talk about it." Her hand caressed the side of his face.

He leaned into her touch, "Yes, I know…" he trailed off. "Dorcas…" he started, his familiar smile appearing, "I have it!" He dipped his quill in ink and fervently wrote on the proposal in front of him.

She waited patiently for him to finish. After ten minutes, he still seemed wholly-absorbed.

"James." she said politely, fully understanding now how his insomnia continued to be fuelled.

He looked up, realising she was still there. "I'm sorry, my Love." He put his quill down.

"And the proposal is?" she asked, her hands once again in his.

"There will be time enough for that tomorrow, my Love. It can wait." he replied, rising from his chair.

"I would like to learn…" she hesitated for more than a moment, looking down at the book and its connotations of the past, "I would like to help you with the Japanese pillow."

He took the leather volume from her hands, putting it back in the bookcase. She looked at him puzzled.

"I don't think I'll be needing it tonight, Dorcas Dowland," he smiled, blowing out the candle and lifting her gently into his arms to carry her back upstairs.

-FIN-


End file.
